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by on October 11, 2018
What is an identity? Is it what I am, or what others see of me? Do I truly get to define what I want to be Or am I born marked by a man’s theory? I walk the streets, a mantle on my shoulder A mask on my face, my heart no colder Shoes tied, how different from a body that does molder? While my own may not change, my soul yet grows older. Stories of the Ages, Tomes of Old Books full of pages of beings once bold Taught to play fearless, yet forced to fold Our great champions the mos...
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by on October 11, 2018
Like a blank answer sheet, sitting unanswered, unused the feelings inside emptied, misdirected, confused poured out, they are dripping now, but in the literal sense; the crimson flow, it beads from each empty line, creating an intense silent cry, yet perfectly representing the scream inside that will never come out, for there are no ears in which to confide ears that will listen, that will hear, and not judge or ridicule; instead, a single pair of ears hears a miniscule whimper, as the h...
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by on October 11, 2018
Talking to a wall is nice-it will listen, and it certainly won’t talk back but what makes blinds so different? they’ve a story to tell though a tongue they lack. Behind their odd corrugation, a silently spoken tale, it calls a promise of a future yet to be fulfilled- but still-crying wordlessly louder, the walls. The walls that remember each word that was said, that bore silent witness to the longing within; the longing for something beyond those walls, yet refusal to the blinds-to...
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by on October 8, 2018
It's all a matter of time. Before all is know. Love is what it is. Our true fate will be shown. But it was taken away. For eternity or more. Away on the wings of angles. Come fly with me. For today we sore to the sun. For today we'll know who we are. Friendship is as old as time. But never forget the truth. There are those who fear the light. My sight is clear. My soul is right. I come to you as a friend. No stopping our live today. For we will fly away. On the wings ...
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